


Learning Lessons

by tillyenna



Series: Darling - I'd bare my neck to You [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - D/s, Dom/sub, M/M, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning: This work contains graphic violence in the form of punishment - if that is not your thing then please don't read.</p><p>Clint is feeling underappreciated by the world's press - so he decides to do something about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Chapter One was written as a stand alone story, however my beta then (quite rightly) described the violence in it as "pointless", so I thought I'd write a piece from Clint's perspective, showing why he might not feel that it was pointless. Chapter Two is then Clint's view.
> 
> Please note, as a result: This work is not beta'd

Clint smirked as he landed, executing a neat roll bringing him back to his feet, the press would have had a field day, and someone would have managed to get the perfect shot of him, mid-air, firing the killing arrow into their enemy, who had promptly exploded. Alright, so the explosion was due to the arrows Tony had made him, and he’d waited a good few minutes after Steve had ordered him to take the shot, but it’s not like anyone was hurt in that time, and it was incredibly impressive. He allowed himself a little swagger as he walked back to where the rest of his team stood. 

“Alright show-off,” Tony sighed, flicking up his visor. “Lets get back to base, Agent Agent is bound to want us in for a debrief.” 

Together they sauntered over to the van acting as the mobile SHIELD base, to see Coulson standing their waiting for them, expression utterly impassive. 

Clint let himself grin at his handler, but the smile soon faded as Coulson’s expression remained utterly icy. 

Without a word the older man snapped his heels together and turned, walking back to his beloved car, and getting in, closing the door and driving off in a plume of dust. 

“Ah,” Clint laughed nervously, scrubbing a hand through the back of his short hair, feeling the prickle of sweat beneath his collar that he was sure the others would notice. “I guess he’ll meet us back at base,” he muttered, more to himself than any of the others. 

As the lift ascended to the floor the Avengers liked to call home in Stark Tower, the doors opened to reveal Coulson standing, facing them, expression and stance just as they had seen in the street. 

“You’re free to go and shower, relax.” He let his mouth twitch up with a hint of a smile, “I’ll be debriefing you all over dinner.” Then, just as Clint was about to relax he added, “Not you Barton, you will go to the training gym and wait for me there immediately.” 

Head bowed, Clint trudged miserably out of the room, he knew what was coming. For the most part his and Phil’s relationship was based on mutual trust, and reward, but very occasionally there had to be punishment, and there was no doubt about it, this was one of those times. 

As Clint walked out, the rest of the team watched him go, and it was Steve who put a gentle hand on Phil’s shoulder. 

“Coulson,” the Captain said softly, “Is it really a good idea to deal with him now? When you’re angry?” he clarified. 

Phil turned back to face his childhood hero, and gave a small smile, the tension easing off his face. “I’m not angry Steve,” he sighed. “I just needed Clint to think I was. Him showing off to journalists isn’t going to get us anywhere, and he needs to learn it’s wrong.” 

“Sorry,” Steve winced, realising he’d been undermining Coulson’s authority with his own submissive. 

“It’s fine.” Phil grinned at him, “Clint’s your team-mate and you care about him. That’s admirable.” He paused, and then added, “If you want to make sure I don’t overstep what you consider safe, we’ll be in the gym.” He smirked before noting, “I’m sure a little public humiliation won’t go amiss.” 

Only Steve and Natasha made their way to the observation balcony of the gym, Bruce was still a little too on edge, the others too keen for a shower and a rest. Clint was knelt on the floor in the middle of the gym, head bowed, still in his battle gear. 

They heard the door snick shut as Coulson entered, but Clint didn’t appear to react. 

“Remove your armour,” Coulson instructed. 

Clint obeyed immediately, removing his arm guards and armoured vest, asking as he did so, “Would it help if I said I was sorry, Sir?” 

“I don’t know.” Coulson walked slowly into the centre of the gym to where Clint was still kneeling on the floor. “If no lesson is needed here I’d be really interested to know quite why you pulled that little stunt earlier.” When no answer was forthcoming, he wandered around Clint, slowly removing his tie, and then using it to bind the archer’s hands behind his back. 

“I’m sorry Sir,” Clint started to say, before he found himself yanked to his feet by Coulson’s hand around his throat. 

“You will apologise when I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Phil hissed at him. 

The second apology nearly spilled off Clint’s tongue, but he bit it back just in time. 

“Now Barton,” Phil sighed, walking around to face him. “Tell me why you decided to pull such a reckless stunt.”   

“I was showing off, Sir,” Clint mumbled, staring at the floor. 

“Really?” Phil rocked back on his heels. “And who were you trying to impress?” 

Clint thought for a moment, trying to find the truth - there was no right answer at this point, he knew this, but lying would be idiotic. “The media, Sir.” He’d barely managed to get his answer out when Phil’s fist came crashing into his face sending him stumbling. He only regained his balance when Phil caught him around the throat. 

“And does the opinion of a few poxy journalists matter to you?” 

“No Sir,” Clint answered, and then winced, feeling the back of Phil’s knuckles slapping across his other cheekbone. He’d lied, and Phil knew, Phil always knew, and he was for it now. “Yes Sir,” he corrected himself. 

Phil shook his head, “And should it?” 

Clint took a moment to think before hesitantly answering, “No Sir.” It was clearly the right answer, as there was no slap or punch, just another question from Phil, an easier one this time. 

“And whose opinion of you should matter?” 

“Just yours Sir.” 

“Good,” Phil let his fingers squeeze harder under Clint’s chin, cutting off his air supply, “It’s good that you can remember that at a time like this.” He smiled softly, “But I am going to beat you until it’s the only thing you can remember.” His free hand came up to stroke Clint’s cheek, rapidly turning red from the lack of oxygen, “And maybe next time you’re on a mission you’ll remember who you ought to be trying to impress.” 

The grip around Clint’s throat released enough for him to choke out a “Thank you Sir,” before the kick hit his abdomen hard enough to send him flying into the floor. 

From his vantage point up high, Steve whistled under his breath. “Coulson can really fight.” he murmured. 

“Of course,” Natasha rolled her eyes at him. “He’s a level seven agent, what did you expect.” 

"I really don't appreciate you taking unnecessary risks with my property." Coulson chastised, yet again, punctuating the point with his fist. 

They watched, staring impassively as Coulson rained blow up blow down upon Clint, who would have struggled to defend himself even if he’d tried. Periodically the older man would grab him by the throat, or twist his arms behind his back and ask him who he was trying to impress and Clint would reply with “You Sir,” only for the answer to have clearly been found unsatisfactory by Coulson, and the assault to start again. 

Just as Steve was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to end, and whether he should go and intervene, Coulson stopped. 

Clint was kneeling on the floor, exhausted, blood dripping from his mouth, and Phil grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked it backwards, tilting Clint’s head up to face him. 

“Who are you trying to impress Clint?” 

“You Sir!” Clint sobbed. “Only you. I just want to please you Sir, I love you!” 

With a sigh, and a soft smile Phil dropped to his knees in front of Clint. “Good boy,” he murmured into his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He wrapped his arms around Clint, “You are my good boy.”. 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Clint sobbed into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” 

“That’s OK,” Phil let one arm wrap around the younger man’s torso, the other carding through his hair. “You’re not going to scare me like that again, are you?” 

“No Sir,” Clint sniffed, burying his face in the crook of Phil’s neck. 

“Come on.” Coulson helped Clint to his feet, leading him out of the gym. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.” 

As Steve watched Phil half carry Clint out of the room, smothering him in kisses and kind words of praise he knew any fears he might have had were misplaced. “He’s a good man.” he said, mostly to himself. 

“Of course,” Natasha snorted. “What did you think?” 

Steve frowned slightly, “Then why were you here?” 

She shrugged. “I trusted Phil to do the right thing,” she said with a soft smile, before reaching up to pat Steve lightly on the cheek. “I didn’t trust you to let him.” 

A few hours later they all met for dinner. Unusually Clint was knelt by Phil’s chair, a cushion under his knees to protect him from the hard floor, and no-one dared say a thing. Phil led them through the debrief with no mention of his earlier actions, one hand jotting down notes as they added them, the other softly carding through Clint’s hair, occasionally stroking his cheek. 

As they were drawing to a close, the agent glanced down “Clint?” he prompted. “Is there something you have to say?” 

Clint didn’t rise, or even look up, but he spoke clearly as he said, “I’m sorry for acting recklessly guys, it won’t happen again.” 

He didn’t hear the choruses of “That’s OK, Clint,” and “Thanks for saying,” from around the table, only looking up to see Phil mouthing the words “Good boy,” at him, and that sending such a jolt of pleasure and calm through him that it was all he could do not to melt there and then.


	2. Lesson Learnt (Clint's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is the same story, but from Clint's view.

Clint flicked idly through the newspapers, scanning them for information about the Avengers. It was a bad habit he'd gotten into of late - Phil had restricted his access to the Subs Rights papers (a fact which would have very much irritated the editors), as he said they gave him a big head, but he still read the regular papers each day. The Avengers were always popular, Earth's Mightiest Heroes sold more papers than Hollywood films stars these days, but what Clint was really searching for, was to see who was hero of the hour. It seemed as if each day the media chose a new favourite, Steve's charm was obvious, the All-American hero, Tony had all the charm and suavity, Thor held the mysterious vote, and Bruce was the "geeky" option, often interviewed about series matters over the others. Of course Natasha was a frequent star, her cat suit would have seen to that without her impressive skills, but Clint couldn't remember the last time he saw his own name in the papers, except occasionally at the bottom of an article "and also submissive archer clint barton." Always his name in lower case, always noting his submissive status, and more than anything always following the words "and also", it drove him mad. From one perspective, he could understand it, he was usually up on the rooftops, and generally, people don't look up, and whilst Natasha's acrobatics made fantastic photos, it would take a brilliant photographer to capture Clint's archery, the speed he shot at, from the distance the media were required to stay at. Still, it stung. He was one of earth's mightiest heroes too, and just for once it would be nice to be recognised as anything other than the "and also submissive".

He was still browsing through the papers, coffee in hand, when the call went off. He grabbed his gear and ran towards the lift on his floor, ready to head down to the ground floor when Tony appeared, already suited up, at the window beside him.

"Come along Merida," Stark laughed, instructing JARVIS to open the window, "It's not too far, I'll give you a lift."

Clint rolled his eyes at the Disney reference, but was out of the window before the lift pinged it's arrival.

Tony deposited him on a window ledge a few stories up, and he spent most of the battle co-ordinating his teammates, and picking off the few stragglers, but the main enemy they were fighting was just out of his line of sight, occasionally he'd catch a glimpse.

"Fuck," Tony swore, "This bastard's taking no damage from anything electrical. Goldilocks and I are out." 

"Barton?" Steve asked over the comms, "Can you take the shot?"

Clint paused for a moment, he was a few stories up, and the jump would probably hurt, that being said, there were a clump of cameramen and journalists not far from where he would land. "Consider it done Cap," he said with a grin, and notching one of his explosive arrows to his bow, he launched himself off his perch. The giant monster swung into his field of vision and he loosed the arrow before turning his attention back to himself, twisting in mid-air, he arranged it to land on a strip of grass, slightly softer than the concrete surrounding it, and curled up to land in a ball. He rolled a few times when he hit the ground, and the air was knocked out of him completely.

He stood up, years of training aiding him in hiding the fact he was winded, and swaggered over to his teammates, the camera flashes going off in his eyes.

"Alright show-off," Tony sighed, flicking up his visor. "Let's get back to base, Agent Agent is bound to want us in for a debrief."

As they walked over to the SHIELD van, his vision returned to normal and he saw his Handler stood, arms behind his back, his expression totally blank. Shit. Clint hadn't bargained that Coulson would already be on the scene - he'd already had several lectures about taking unnecessary risks. His collar meant that legally he belonged to the senior agent, and he knew Phil didn't appreciate him being careless with himself, in the same way he didn't like it when anyone manhandled his Captain America merchandise. He tried his trademarked grin, in an effort to break the ice that was seemingly surrounding Coulson, but it clearly failed, and he felt the smile slide off his face.

He watched, as without a word the older man snapped his heels together and turned, walking back Lola, and getting in, closing the door and driving off in a plume of dust. 

"Ah," Clint laughed nervously, scrubbing a hand through the back of his short hair, feeling the prickle of sweat beneath his collar that he was sure the others would notice. "I guess he'll meet us back at base," he muttered, wanting the reassurance that he would see Coulson soon, hoping that one of the others would validate his statement.

"Guess so." Steve said, overly cheerfully, and clapped a hand on Clint's shoulder, noticing the smaller man flinch away as he did so.

A heavy silence fell over them as they headed back to the tower, Clint's obvious nervousness affecting everyone. By the time they reached their communal floor, Coulson was there waiting for them.

"You're free to go and shower, relax." He instructed them "I'll be debriefing you all over dinner." 

Clint's shoulders immediately slumped in relaxation, and the corners of his mouth almost twitched up in a smile when Phil spoke again.

"Not you Barton, you will go to the training gym and wait for me there immediately."

Clint’s heart sank. He bowed his head and trudged miserably from the room. He knew he deserved to be punished, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked up this badly, but that didn’t mean he looked forward to it. He made his way to the training gym, and wandered out into the middle of the floor. His mind racing, he frantically tried to think of something he could do to make amends for what he’d done, something he could do to avoid the impending punishment - but he drew a blank. He knew full well that he deserved what was coming. His heart hammering in his chest he knelt in the middle of the room, his head bowed in submission, anything to soften the punishment that was coming.

It seemed an eternity that he was left like this, but he knew it couldn’t be. Phil never left him on his own for too long when he was like this. First he heard Natasha, and by the sound of the footsteps Steve, up on the balcony, then he heard the door swing open downstairs, and Coulson’s even tread as he walked into the room.

“Remove your armour.” Coulson instructed.

Clint winced inwardly, he should have thought of that already. He rapidly unbuckled his bracers and his vest, and without meaning to, blurted out the words “Would it help if I said I was sorry, Sir?”

Coulson continued walking towards him “I don’t know.” He said, his tone perfectly even. “If no lesson is needed here I’d be really interested to know quite why you pulled that little stunt earlier.”

Clint let his eyes fall shut, dismay running through him, guilt flooding every fibre of his body. Oh God, he had done wrong. He had so done wrong. He felt Phil’s tie looping around his wrists, the familiar feel of the silk grounding him. He choked back a sob. “I’m sorry Sir,” the words were almost out when Phil grabbed him around the throat and yanked him to his feet.

“You will apologise when I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Phil hissed in his ear.

Clint found himself almost apologising again, but bit his tongue, the feel of Phil's fingers pressing into his throat, reminding himself of what he should not be doing. He almost felt himself sob again as Phil let go of him, craving the man’s rough touch the instant he’d let go of him.

“Now Barton” phil was facing him now, “Tell me why you decided to pull such a reckless stunt.”

Lying simply wasn’t worth it. “I was showing off, Sir”

Phil rocked back on his heels? “Really? And who were you trying to impress?”

Clint winced, there was no easy way to answer this. Phil would know if he was lying, but the truth would get him into trouble. Still, this was his fault, he had done wrong, he was the one that had made Phil worry, and he was the one that was going to have to take the consequence. Barely audible, he whispered, “The media, Sir.”

Phil’s fist slamming into the side of his face caught him by surprise and he stumbled, until Phil caught him swiftly around the throat, dragging him back to standing. The pain bloomed across his face, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes, not from the pain, no, but from the shame.

His hander stared intensely at him. “And does the opinion of a few poxy journalists matter to you?”

“No Sir,” he answered, and then winced, Phil’s knuckles across his cheekbone reminding him that lying was not a sensible thing to do. He’d lied without even thinking about it. He was a disgrace. “Yes Sir,” he admitted.

He watched as Phil shook his head, so dissapointed in him. He could almost feel the man’s dissapointment in the air as he asked “And should it?”

Clint thought for a moment, keen to get the right answer. “No Sir.” He barely managed to keep the question out of his voice, but the answer was clearly right, as there was no punishment after it. He felt his heart swell a little with pride.

“And whose opinion of you should matter?”

That was an easy one. “Just yours Sir.” Clint was Phil’s and Phil’s alone.

“Good.” Phil’s fingers tightened around his throat until Clint’s vision narrowed, and all he could see was Phil, and all he could hear was Phil, and his mind was filled with Phil, and Phil’s voice saying “It’s good that you can remember this at a time like this. But I am going to beat you until it’s the only thing you can remember.”

Clint felt the twitch in his cock at that promise, even as he dreaded the punishment, he knew he needed it, knew he deserved it, and felt so loved that Phil would be so kind as to give it to him.

“Maybe next time you’re on a mission” His handler continued, still not letting him breathe, @You’ll remember who you ought to be trying to impress.”

He felt the grip around his throat release and choked out his thanks, but before he could suck in that welcome breath of oxygen, Phil’s foot came flying through the air and knocked what little remained of his breath out of him. Blow after blow knocked into him, and even if his hands weren’t tied behind his back, he wouldn’t have tried to fight back. He knew he needed this, knew he wanted it. As the pain spread through his body, he felt the grip of guilt on his mind release, slowly, with every punch that landed he slipped further into the recesses of his mind, into the darker places which belonged to Phil and Phil alone. On the edge of his conciousness he could hear the question, “Who are you trying to impress Barton?” and he would reply “You Sir,” and with every fist that hit him, every kick against his ribs he knew it to be true. He was for Phil, he lived to impress Phil, he belonged to Phil.

Kneeling on the floor, blood dripping from his lips, he stared at the mats on the gym floor, the blue seeming brighter than before. His handler grabbed his hair, and yanked it, until his head was tilting up and his eyes were staring into Phil’s beautiful eyes. He choked back a sob at the sight of Phil, power radiating from every cell of his body. His Phil.

“Who are you trying to impress Clint?” Phil asked softly

“You Sir,” This time the sob was complete, “ONly you. I just want to please you Sir, I love you!” As he said it he knew the words were true, knew that he would not make such a mistake again, not because he didn’t want the punishment, but because he didn’t want to make the mistake, he wanted to be perfect for Phil, he never wanted to let his Handler down again.

“Good boy.” Coulson dropped to his knees, level with Clint and pulled him into his arms, kissing the top of his head. “You are my good boy.”

The tears were running freely now, “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m so sorry.”

Phil’s fingers were stroking softly through his hair, “That’s OK,” his voice was soft and warm. “You’re not going to scare me like that again, are you?”

“No Sir,” Clint buried his face in the crook of Phil’s neck, inhaling his scent, the scent of safety.

“Come on.” Coulson helped him up, leading him out of the gym. “Lets go get you cleaned up.”   
He lead him away to their quarters, never letting go of him, never breaking the skin contact, murming soft praise. Phil undressed him, and lead him into the shower, washing him gently, avoiding any broken skin. He dried him off with a soft towel, and rubbed arnica onto his bruises.

“I need you to apologise to the others.” Phil said, pressing a soft kiss to Clint’s lips.

“I understand.” Clint felt himself resurfacing, “I put them in danger when I act like a dick.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Phil’s mouth. “You’re my good boy.” He pressed a kiss to Clint’s forehead. “You know that don’t you?”

Clint paused for a moment, feeling every ache in his body, every reminder that when he wanted to do something that put himself in danger, Phil would stop him. “Yeah,” he smiled softly. “Yeah I know.”


End file.
